Quiet Truths
by Rasie Tojas
Summary: [Raydor/Flynn] AU When the loud noise comes to a quiet, what comes of it? Andy and Sharon have to maneuver through a Phillip Stroh less world and figure out what's next.
1. Chapter 1

This is an AU where Sharon lives. The idea was born after a few days of weird insomnia. All mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

The first time Andy Flynn remembered stepping into a church was when he was 6. It was for a funeral. His father's funeral. He remembered his mother taking his hand, sitting in the first pew, and never speaking about the day. His mother remarried six months later.

He met Sandra when he was 18. By 21 they were married. The church was small, in her hometown; being married in a church surrounded by her friends and family was what Sandra wanted. He wanted to give her everything. No one knew that the real reason they were married was because she was pregnant.

The same church was the place both of their kids were baptized. The kids were 7 and 5 when Sandra divorced him. He remembered sitting in the back of the church, the very last pew on the left, begging God for his forgiveness. It was from his spot there, that he watched Charlie receive his first communion. Andy was gone before anyone knew he was there.

Classifying himself as someone who was religious wouldn't be fair to those who practiced on a weekly basis. He practiced, but after being divorced from Sandra, he was more of a holiday practitioner. When he'd visit his mother, they would go to a cathedral in New York for whatever holiday he was in town for. If he found himself spending time with his sister, they'd go to a small church for a Sunday mass. Going every Sunday was a relatively new experience for him.

If anyone asked he went to Church every Thursday night at 7:30. It surprised his colleagues, that hot-tempered Andy Flynn went to Mass. Letting them assume that he was in fact going to church was easier than explaining he was going to the basement of a Church to profess his sins of being an Alcoholic. Going to AA was a requirement for him to maintain his position within the LAPD. It was a deal he had to make with his wife if he wanted to see his kids again.

Now, he sat in the middle of a church, staring up at the altar. It was not the church he first got married in, but the second. It was the church where his step-children went to school. Where their mother found solace in when a case became to difficult. It was here he went for answers.

"You're here awfully late, Andy," a voice from behind him said.

Andy turned in his seat to find Father Stan making his way towards him. Andy smiled politely at the Father and went back to the altar. He stood up there, promising to be with Sharon in sickness and in health, for richer or poor, until the day they die. He just didn't think he'd be forced to live up to those vows so soon. At least the sickness part.

"Got a few things on my mind," Andy said as Father Stan sat next to him.

"Anything I can help clear up?"

Andy shook his head in the negative and they both sat in silence. Father Stan was a family friend. He administered Sharon her last rites when she thought she was dying. He sat with Rusty, Emily and Ricky for hours praying. He was there when the family needed him.

"Recovering," Andy said. "We lost her on the operating table, but they got her back. Thankfully."

Her heart stopped twice. Three times really. Once in her office, again on the way over to the hospital and then a third on the table. Despite being the husband, Andy wasn't allowed to see her for hours. They wanted to monitor her without any added presence.

They kept him out in order for her to live. The presence of him would increase her heart rate which was what they wanted to avoid. Good or bad - they needed the muscle to beat on its own. Then they would increase the rate and monitor it. He wanted - no - he needed her to live, so he stayed way.

"There were a few things -" Andy began but quietted.

He looked down at his hands, a rosary sat in the palm. It was Sharon's. A present when she was a teenager from her Grandmother. A variety of colors, each bead prayed upon, and blessed.

"I don't know if you follow the news," Andy said. "But we got a suspect that we've been looking for."

"Phillip Stroh," the Father said.

The name, coming off of the other man's tongue, echoed slightly in the church. It forced Andy to sit up straighter. The man was dead, had been dead for days now, and still set him on edge. It set the need to run home, to check the locks on every door and window. The fight or flight instinct was still alive.

"Yeah," Andy nodded. "Him. Caused a mess."

"How so?"

"Rusty killed him," Andy professed. "I'm sure he's already talked to you. Sharon pushed him to talk to you."

"We have had a discussion, yes," Stan confirmed. "As I told Rusty, deceit is in the hearts of those who plot evil, but those who promote peace have joy. What Phillip Stroh did was deceitful. He deceived women and murdered them. Raped them and murdered them, if the news reports are correct."

Andy said nothing, but simply nodded.

"Then what is next is to continue doing your work," Stan said. "Promote peace. Ensure the safety of the city. Joy will come."

Andy fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was one of those things that he had been told, over and over and over again, that what he did was good. The death that he dealt with on a daily basis was only the first step. Finding out whoever did it, allowed the families a nugget of peace. They were given answers.

Not many families were that lucky. Questions remained unanswered in the cold cases that sat in the basement. On down days, Andy found himself opening boxes, taking out files, looking over the notes and seeing if anything jumped out at him. He had a box in his desk drawer that he used to look at when he was on desk duty and the team had just rolled out. It calmed him.

Father Stan stood. Andy followed suit. The other man offered his hand to shake and Andy took it.

"You need to take care of yourself," Stan told him. "Let the children take care of you."

Andy smirked and shrugged his shoulder. "We'll see about that. Thanks, though, Father."

"Any time, Andy."

With that, Andy moved to the edge of the pew, bent down on one knee and made the sign of the cross. With his thumb pressed to his mouth, he prayed one more time and stood. Turning his back on the altar he went to the double doors that went to the street.

With one more look, he regarded the space before he left it. It was where he got married. It was where his friends and family watched him swear to another that for as long as he lived he would be there for Sharon. It was the quiet admission, and quick glance over her shoulder to Emily and a long in depth conversation with the boys the night before - he would be there for them too. He would stop at nothing.

The first time Andy Flynn remembered stepping into a church was when he was 6. Again to baptize his children and to watch them receive their first communion. He admitted his sins of addiction in the basement of a church. He swore, again, to be there for another human selflessly under the watchful gazes of his friends and family.

Stepping out into the cool, chilly, January night, he different. As he settled into his car, a small smile formed on his lips. As he pulled into the traffic, headed towards home, he put a name to the feeling; Joy.

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	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all so much for the reviews. This is part 2 of I don't know how many. Whatever comes to mind will be written. All mistakes are mine.

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When Sharon Raydor broke the news to her parents that she was not going to law school, it was a chilly February morning. She had been married to Jack five years then and nothing was coming in. His client list was nothing compared to what he had hoped. The money wasn't coming in. She needed stability.

Telling them that she had joined and passed the Academy was done over a lengthy lunch. The decision had been hers. The income Jack expected, having been a lawyer for nearly a decade by the time Emily was born, still wasn't enough. She needed, they needed, an extra income. Sharon hit the streets during the day, while Emily was at the babysitters.

Emily was three when Sharon was shot for the first time. A graze to the abdomen on the platform of a train station. Six weeks later, Sharon found out she was pregnant. Again. She requested a transfer from the streets to an office; she needed the pay that came with the promotion.

Hurting was never what she expected. She never expected to hurt financially, emotionally, or physically all at once. She had angry cops yell at her every day. She had cops plead their cases to her every day. She just never expected for her husband to wipe out their joint account, leave in the middle of the night, breaking her and her children's hearts.

Work had become her safe place. The Church was where she ranted and raved, begging God for answers she couldn't find in everyday life. She would tell the walls of her office secrets no one else knew. The four walls of her office became her confessional. It was her haven.

Never in a million years did she think that after raising three kids she would retire because of a heart problem. She had always been in the top physical shape. She ate right. When Emily and Ricky were growing up she exercised with them. With Rusty, he kept her mind in tip top shape.

The elevator bell dinged, signaling her arrival on the 9th floor. _Her_ floor. She turned to look at the shaft and saw the stain of the blood from years before that belonged to Phillip Stroh. Satisfaction filled her as the doors closed and consternation filtered in. She hadn't spoken to her son, had a real conversation with him in nearly a month.

Not that she was avoiding him, but the idea of him killing Phillip Stroh made her blood boil. She wanted to throttle her husband for letting him out of his sight. It was one thing that she was dealing with the aftermath of her surgery and the fact that she was on bed rest, but to find out about the demise of Stroh on the _news_. For hours, until her phone finally rang, she saw red. She had gone stir crazy.

Walking the familiar path from the elevator to the squad room was slow. She was in mandatory physical therapy to regain strength in her legs. It was a slow and steady process. The backs of chairs were her guide posts. The flat surface of a desk was her steadier.

The door to her office was closed. Had remained that way, according to the hushed whispers of her husband and son. A vase sat in the middle of her desk. Red roses. Her favorite.

Pushing them to the side, she sat in the chair she rolled up from her office in Internal Affairs one morning. That had been a summer morning. Early – before anyone would dare step foot into the building. Much like now, that summer morning, she sat in her chair and just took it in. This division was hers.

"You said the view was your favorite," a voice said, breaking her out of her daze.

Side effects from the medication made her lose train of thought quickly. She had been caught more than one time, simply staring at nothing at home.

Sharon smiled at the intruder. He was welcome. More than welcomed, actually.

"What can I do for you Lieutenant?" Sharon asked, eyeing Provenza as he stepped into the office.

"Well," Provenza said, making a face. "Since you asked."

The older man sat in the chair, opposite Sharon and leaned back, arms crossed firmly across his chest.

"I want a raise," he deadpanned.

Sharon tilted her head back and laughed. A good, healthy, laugh. Her eyes were glossy when she returned her gaze on Provenza and the other man was simply smiling. It was good to see the color back in her cheeks. A vast difference than the pale, hallowed, look from before.

"I can see what I can do about that," she replied as serious as she could muster. "What else?"

"I need a new team," Provenza said, his tone close to whining. "Sykes is too damn tall. Sanchez is already on his way out. He tell you that? And Mike – who knows how long Mike is going to hang around here. Don't get me started on Buzz. That kid with all of his Reserve Officer Training crap."

As the Lieutenant went on, Nolan and Paige came into view. The young officers had coffees in their hands, shoving each other gently. Long time ago, Sharon knew what that was like. She simply shook her head and returned her attention back to Provenza.

"And Flynn-" Provenza groaned.

"Careful," Sharon warned, with a small smirk on her lips.

"He was gone the minute your head hit the floor," Provenza told her, honestly.

The statement took the smile off her face. He wasn't lying. Flynn was not the same after she collapsed in her office. He wasn't the same after they told him Sharon's heart gave out three times. He was present, but distracted in the hunt for Stroh and the minute they pronounced him dead, a vacation request was on Provenza's desk.

It hadn't even dawned on her that her husband had requested time off. He was just there, present, available and she never second guessed it. How he was able to be there hadn't factored into her thought process. She was just grateful for it.

"It's getting better," Sharon said. "It'll be better."

"How'd your last appointment go?" Provenza said, changing the subject slightly.

"Good," Sharon said, shrugging her shoulder. "The new heart is working. Thankfully."

She needed the heart to take. She wanted to watch Emily get married. Wanted Ricky to have kids. Rusty to graduate law school and win his first case on his own. She wanted her family safe.

"I made a deal with God," Sharon shrugged.

"Ye gods woman," Provenza groaned, much like Rusty did, when Sharon told him. "Do you ever quit?"

"I never thought I'd have to make a deal with him," Sharon said. "Being able to sit here, with you, one last time is worth it."

"Now you're getting sentimental." Provenza stated, standing from his chair. "And you know how I hate getting sentimental."

Carefully, with her grip on the arm rest of her chair in a tight grip, she pushed herself up. She was pleased with the steadiness of herself.

"I apologize," Sharon said.

She came around the desk, centering herself with a gentle hand against the desk top. She place a hand on Louie's arm, squeezing it.

"Take care of them," Sharon requested. "They require some love and care."

"They're not flowers," Provenza groused.

Sharon smirked and caught her husband out of the corner of her eye. She smiled and waved, signaling one more minute.

"No," Sharon said. "They are not. But they are why I'm still standing."

She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the Lieutenant's cheek and left the office.

As the fresh air hit her face just outside of the PAB building, she turned back to the building. Her eyes danced over the block letters that read LOS ANGELES POLICE. She grinned. If only the walls knew the stories she told it.

It must have for it was her saving grace.

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	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all who are reading this and commenting! This one was started and stopped three or four different times, before actually getting what I wanted. So I hope you enjoy! All mistakes are mine.

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Emily Raydor was eight the first time she spent the night away from home. It was a sleep over for a friend from school to celebrate her birthday. There was cake, there was ice cream, singing, dancing; from what she could remember it was fun. There was a brief moment when she wanted to call home, to beg her mother to come pick her up, but it went away. She felt grown up a little bit that she was gone from home.

Waking up, Emily Raydor smiled into the warmth of her pillow and the body that she shared the space with. She was back in Los Angeles and her mother did not know. Not yet anyway. Her mother also didn't know that Emily was home to stay; Emily sold her New York apartment and bought a one-way plane ticket to Los Angeles with no intention of returning to New York. It didn't feel right, being there anymore.

Emily Rolled onto her back and stretched herself out. She rested her head on her folded arms. The ceiling above her was a tacky white with spots around the edge from where the repaint of the room was extended. It made her smile. Someone so obsessive at being perfect, let the roof look not perfect.

Her mind was drifting off and was ready to fall back asleep when the bed shifted. Her partner left the bed and headed for the restroom. She took the time to get up herself and dress before making her way to the kitchen to start in on the coffee. There had been coffee promised and she was very much going to take the offer of coffee. Her body still felt jet lagged.

She was pouring the coffee into the cups when she felt the pair of arms circle her waist. She wondered if this is what her mother felt every morning waking up with Andy. It felt right. It was new. Still trying to work through what this was.

"Morning," she said, offering up a cup of coffee.

When her bedmate took the cup, she herself took a cup and turned against the counter. She cradled the cup with both hands, reveling in the warmth. The quiet moment made her smile. She grinned into the rim and was content standing in the silence, drinking coffee. It was when she looked up that her bubble was crowded and her face was captured with a single hand tilted up.

She could taste the coffee on her partner's lips. It was the same she drank, but this was sweeter. It was more intoxicating. She wanted more. But a phone in the distance rang.

Groaning into her neck, her partner pulled away and set aside his phone. He went in search for his phone, which he would find on his bedside table, Emily surmised to herself. She didn't go after him, for she knew what the call was. She grew up with those kinds of calls.

Breakfasts were interrupted growing up. Her mother was once in an audience for a show in high school and was gone by the end of it. Birthdays were interrupted, from time to time, but not always. The calls that stopped everything. She received one in the middle of rehearsal in New York from Rusty saying that their mom had collapsed in her office.

There was 100 percent certainty that the adrenaline she felt was _not_ the same when her mother or step-father received their phone calls. The call that her mother was dying and could potentially be dead when she touched down in LA terrified her. She nearly collapsed when Buzz told her that they lost her mother, but her mother was still alive. It was a different kind of phone call than what her mother received, but it was not one she ever wanted again.

"Did he refer to you as Detective Watson?" Emily asked Buzz, when he came back into the room.

She knew it was Provenza who called. He always made the calls.

Buzz rolled his eyes and tossed his phone on the counter. She realized he was dressed differently than five minutes ago. He was more put together than her. She was wearing a silk robe.

"Only you do," Buzz retorted. "Why? I don't know."

"Because it's your name," Emily replied, stepping around him, and heading back to his bedroom where her suitcases were. "Or would you rather me call you Francis?"

Ignoring the question, he changed the subject. "A body was found near your mom's apartment, so I thought I could drop you off."

"And I magically appeared there?"

Buzz, again, rolled his eyes. "You are sounding like your step-father and his work wife. You know that right?"

"What can I say?" Emily questioned, pulling out an outfit from the case, "I was raised by the LAPD."

It was true what she said. She really was. After school, if times were tough, Sharon would bring them both to her office and set them up in the corner while she finished paperwork. At night her and Ricky would play detective and try to figure out what would happen to the suspects who were brought in. If they didn't make it home for dinner, they'd be in the break room, having the same conversation.

What her mother did, fascinated Emily. Weaving in and out of people's lives, trying to be invisible, more often than not, being successful at being invisible. She was methodical, direct, and when the grown adult men who thought she was the villain spit in her face, she took it. Emily didn't understand it until she got older, but even when she was young, her mother didn't waver. Emily, in retrospect, figured that the stone cold persona that her mother adopted was in part thanks to Emily's father.

"How do you not get affected by dealing with death every day?" Emily asked, in the car.

"We all have our ways of coping," Buzz offered. "I've been dealing with it for a while now. Longer than most. In different ways."

"And you don't feel like running for the hills or drowning yourself in a bottle?" Emily asked.

She knew that's what Andy struggled with. Rusty admitted that after Sharon nearly died, Andy went to a few meetings in a week. He went back to his normal schedule of going every Thursday night only recently. She knew her mother fueled her stress into making sure everyone was taken care of. Buzz, she realized, didn't really have anything concrete to obsess about.

"When I was younger I joined the track and field team," Buzz admitted. "Listening to my heart pound in my ears helped remind me that I was alive. When I joined the LAPD, I got to help people hear that same sound, despite the circumstances."

Emily simply nodded and casted her eyes to look outside the window.

"Death is weird for people," Buzz offered. "Your mom died, Emily. But you have her. My Dad is gone and I'm never going to get him back. The kid whose heart your Mom has, his family won't ever see him again. There's something to that, I guess."

"Second chances," Emily suggested. "They know what happened to their son. He was hit by a drunk driver. Perfect health. Dead because someone couldn't put down a bottle long enough to go a mile."

When Buzz looked at her with surprised eyes, Emily shrugged.

"Rusty told me," she told him. "My mom doesn't know."

"Maybe she should," Buzz pushed. "Andy won't tell her. Rusty won't tell her. None of us will."

"What's his name?" Emily asked, as Buzz pulled up to the building that her mother, Andy and Rusty lived in. "The kid whose heart my mom has."

"Elliot Lorenzo. He was nineteen." Buzz told her.

"Anything else I should know?"

"He wanted to be a cop," Buzz told her.

"Am I seeing you later?" Emily asked, resting her hand on handle to let her out of the car.

"The team is obligated to appear for dinner," Buzz said.

"Good," she said, leaning over the center console and kissing him swiftly. "See you later."

She moved to exit out of the car and Buzz yelling, "Em!" stopped her. She leaned down to look at him.

"Death is a toll, but so is living knowing someone else isn't," Buzz offered.

Emily simply smiled at him and closed the car door.

The next time she saw Buzz was exactly at six-o'clock, when the entire team showed up. It was two years since the flu first went around the squad; that was the beginning of their time clock.

As Emily surveyed the room, listening to the bickering conversations of her step-father and his friend, Rusty and Sanchez's son Mark, she smiled. She thought back to when she was eight and the movie they watched at the sleep over – a classic and it's message was true.

There was really no place like home.

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	4. Chapter 4

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Ricky Raydor, or Rick to his friends, was a freshman in High School when his coach first told him that his long legs would be good for Track and Field. It was the following year that a bunch of his friends entered a computer software competition and wanted him to join their team. Each member of the team, if declared winners, would get a scholarship. He took the lesser of two evils - he joined the Computer Team and unofficially joined the track and field team. He wouldn't go to the meets, but he'd still receive the training.

The computer route was to take stress away from his mother. She made sure he and Emily were always taken care of. They were always fed, dressed and healthy, despite the long hours she put in at home or at the office. Ricky mid-way through high school, when he got up one night, found his mother asleep on the couch with her files strewn everywhere. Another night it was bills instead of cases.

When the call came that his mother officially retired from the LAPD, he cried. He liked her team. They took good care of her. But it was what put her in the hospital. It was what nearly took her from him.

Andy wasn't far behind her in retiring either. His cited cause was heart problems. He claimed that one more heart issue could kill him. No one doubted it. Out of the two of them, everyone was more worried about Andy and the man knew it.

Ricky was called, texted rather, by Rusty announcing that their Mom and Step-Dad bought a house up in the hills. It was a four bedroom house that had a patio which overlooked the canyon below. Rusty mentioned once, that if someone was looking hard enough they could see the observatory from one of the bedroom windows. Both brothers decided that a police officer's salary alone couldn't afford that kind of house. Ricky didn't argue with it though.

He knew if something was going to make his mother happy, she was going to go for it. He also knew that his grandparents had set up funds for all of their children and grandchildren to do with as they pleased. As Ricky packed his bags, shoving shirts and pants unceremoniously into a duffle bag, he figured that's what his mother did. Used her money as she pleased, with who she wanted to share it with.

The house was expansive and expensive. The four bedroom house his mother bought costed her more than all three of her kid's tuition combined. He had pulled up to the address and stood outside of it for a minute or two, before walking up to the front door and knocking on it. What was inside had him pulling his jaw up off the floor.

The apartment at one point in time was home. It's distant, but he could remember bits and pieces of the house they lived in before his Dad dipped the first time. This was neither of those things. It was the house and the apartment combined. It was breathtaking.

It shouldn't have caught him by surprise, but it did; the sight of the comfortable, peaceful looking woman that came through the house had him searching for words. It was his mother with color in her cheeks, her hair swept up in a hair-do that suited her, and a smile that brightened everything around her. It was a completely different person than the last time he saw her, which was three months prior, when they were still living in the condo. This woman was content. He liked seeing her alive.

It was early morning now, as his feet his the pavement, forceful and harder with every step that took him up to the house. He thought of his father leaving them, time and time again. He thought of his mother dying on the table, with doctors surrounding her, trying to get her heart restarted. He thought of his brother coming face to face with his demon and being able to shoot it down. His feet burned as he came to a stop, doubling over.

"How was your run?" A voice asked him.

Ricky shot up, unaware he had an audience, and came face to face with his step-sister. Nicole was sitting on the steps, nursing a cup of coffee. The sun was just starting to come up. She looked warn, tired, but, raising two boys who were full of energy would do it.

"Jesus," Ricky cursed. "Warn a person, why don't you."

"Sorry," she apologized, scooting over.

Ricky shook his head; he waved his hand in thanks. He was just going to pace until he caught his breath again.

"Why are you out here anyway?" Ricky asked.

Nicole simply shrugged her shoulders. Ricky continued to pace.

"How far did you go?"

Ricky stopped and took a deep breath, feeling the burn in his lungs. "To the park and back."

He swallowed hard and gasped for air. He was getting old if this is how his body was treating him. It was an unfortunate reminder that he wasn't necessarily young anymore.

Ricky had seen Nicole briefly at their parent's wedding. She opted out of taking the family photos because she wasn't involved in the planning. She felt bad. Her and her father were still at odds, but talked. Which was more than what he and Emily did with their father.

Ricky collapsed on the step below Nicole's and leaned back. He needed to take a shower before the whole house woke up and he was going to need a cup of coffee. Faintly, he could smell Nicole's and it smelled good.

"You ever think," Nicole began. She shook her head to dismiss the thought. "Never mind."

"I think about a lot of things," Ricky remarked. "Computer stuff mostly, but that's just how my brain is wired."

Nicole laughed. She tightened her grip on her coffee cup and sighed.

"How do you not hate your Dad?" Nicole asked. "I mean, I don't hate mine. I just - I wish I knew him better. The man I know wouldn't have spent his money on this house."

"To be fair," Ricky started, sitting up a little more. "I'm pretty sure my mom bought this house and allowed him to sign his name on the dotted line."

Nicole nodded, but shrugged her shoulder, all the same. Ricky registered the apprehension in his step-sister's posture.

"I don't hate my Dad," Ricky said. "I'd like to. It would make life so much easier. But my Mom doesn't hate him. She just hates the choices he made."

Nicole nodded and drank more of her coffee. The sun was beginning to brighten over the horizon of the trees. The bird's chirps were a little bit louder. The traffic below was beginning to pick up. The day was starting over.

"My Dad," Ricky started. "Is kind of like your Dad. They're both addicts. My Dad just chooses to dance with the devil and drown at the bottom of the bottle. Your Dad put a stop to it. He's been sober for a long time now."

"Yeah."

"My Dad keeps falling off," Ricky shrugged. "It bugs Emily more than it bugs me. I think mostly because I was never really attached to my Dad like Emily was. She had this hero complex figured out and she realized it didn't add up."

t was one night when Jack was supposed to pick them up and he didn't show. Emily had cried in the living room and yelled at their mother that it was her fault. If she loved their father, their father wouldn't leave them. It was a circular argument that ended when Emily collapsed in her mother's arms. It started again when Jack showed up, drunk and demanding to see the kids.

Emily told him no. It was the first time her complex shattered.

"Your sister is like your mother in that way," Nicole pointed out. "Calculative. Needs everything to make sense."

"Yeah," Ricky agreed. "We all are, I think."

Another moment of silence fell on them. He knew, any minute or so, his mother would be getting up. She was an early riser, still. He really needed to take a shower.

"What about you?" Ricky asked. "You talk to your Dad. Why is that?"

"My husband," Nicole said. "I blame him."

Ricky laughed. "Seriously though. If I see my Dad on the street I'll greet him, but I have no need to call him up. You do."

"I don't know what it is," Nicole said. "I just miss him, sometimes, I guess."

"So he must not be all that bad if you want to give him a call once in a while," Ricky said, nudging her shoulder. "He's happy."

"He is," Nicole agreed. "We all should be happy. Not needing to beat things with our fists of feet."

Ricky looked at his step-sister and smiled at her. She had a point.

"I'm going back in." Nicole said. "You coming?"

"Yeah," Ricky said, standing up and joining her.

He showered and got dressed. He was sitting at the back patio table with his computer and cup of coffee when his mother found him. He closed his eyes at the warm hand at the back of his neck and just let her fingers work out the kinks in his neck. He took her hand in his and brought it around to kiss the back of it. He tilted his head back and looked up at her.

She was at peace, healthy, and whole.

He could stop running now.

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	5. Chapter 5

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It had been eight o'clock the last time he looked at a clock. He couldn't figure out what woke him the first time, but it took a while for his body to wake up out of the nightmare he had, despite his eyes being wide open. The next time he looked at a clock it was just after midnight and Rusty Beck's brain wouldn't shut off. He was trying to remember the first nightmare and then the second. Whatever plagued his mind, had him curling out of bed at four in the morning and down the stairs into the kitchen.

He was in his parent's house up in the hills. He had finished a case, his third as the lead prosecutor and as usual, his mother wanted to celebrate. They had gone out to a fancy restaurant, they bought expensive wine, and Andy paid the bill with no remarks about the price. The first case Rusty won, it was a bill that edged close to two hundred dollars and Andy swiped his card without a bat of an eye. Rusty tried to pay him back.

It was close to four thirty when Rusty settled at the kitchen island with a stack of briefs, a large cup of coffee and the dim kitchen light. He was highlighting a sentence that would have to deal with charges when the light step on the stairs caught his attention. He had been down for about fifteen minutes and expected the house to be asleep for at least another hour or so.

With a small look over his shoulder, Rusty saw Charlie inching into the kitchen. The man had an apologetic look on his face as he tried to shove his arms into his jacket. Rusty nodded to the coffee pot and Charlie smiled in appreciation.

It shouldn't have surprised him that Charlie pulled out a stool and sat with him, but it did. The man was one of very few words. He came and went as he pleased and greeted everyone with a simple gesture or a quiet word.

"Whatcha workin' on?" Charlie asked before taking a sip of his coffee.

"Uh," Rusty said, looking down at the brief in his hands. "Triple homicide. You?"

"Headed to the House in a second," Charlie shrugged. "Another twelve hour day."

"Living the life?"

"It pays the bills."

Charlie was a firefighter. According to Nicole, Charlie trains the new kids who are more agile and flexible. It was a holiday conversation that had Andy excusing himself from the table; Charlie had fallen from a ladder and broke his leg in three different places. It took nearly a year of physical therapy to get back to standing properly. Everyone had watched Sharon go after Andy and said nothing for the rest of the meal.

"How'd they do it?" Charlie asked, nodding to Rusty's brief.

"Strangulation and rape," Rusty said. "Not the first time I've seen that before."

"Three people?"

"Two kids and their mother."

"Jesus," Charlie swore into his coffee. "I don't know how you guys can deal with all that."

"Is it much different than running into a burning building?" Rusty challenged. "Mom and Dad would have been human shields if they had to be. Not that Emily likes it, but there is a possibility that Buzz may never come home again. That's the life they lead now."

"Rusty look - "

"You nearly died from falling off a ladder," Rusty said. "On duty. My mom had a heart attack in the middle of yelling at a suspect. She wasn't in the field. She was at her desk. This happens every day and no one likes it."

"Easy there Counselor," Charlie quipped. "Some people might take you for a lawyer."

"I am a lawyer," Rusty grumbled.

The lady who was in charge of the law library at UCLA knew him by name because of the time he spent there. The same went for the guy at the snack cart that opened early in the morning; he sold coffee and Rusty always bought one.

"What I'm saying is," Charlie began again. "This is finally your guys turn to breathe full lungs of air without worrying it may be your last. I would take advantage of it." '

Rusty had nothing to say to that since it was true. Both of his, well, both Andy and Sharon were retired. Emily was starting to manage with Buzz going out every morning not really knowing if would ever come back. There had been long nights with Emily and Sharon talking on the couch about how _that_ worked. The not knowing if their spouse was going to come home at the end of the day. There would be a lot of therapy and prayer, Sharon had explained.

It didn't take long for Emily to find a good therapist and go once a week. No one commented on it, but when the squad took fire and Buzz's phone was shattered by a bullet, Emily went into a spinning panic. She showed up on the front steps hysterical and Sharon took her in with no question. Andy and Rusty had politely stepped out, onto the back porch, and looked at the sky turn from the bright blue of the day to the purple and pink hue of the night.

Life for them wasn't easy, nor had they expected it to be. Charlie was right. They were finally able to breath now that they weren't drowning in 'What If's'. What if Sharon didn't make it home? What if Andy's heart gave out on him in the middle of a case and he didn't make it? What if their house got been broken into because of Stroh?

None of that mattered now.

Rusty shrugged his shoulders at Carlie as a form of response. The fact was and always will be: He shot and killed Stroh. Sharon yelled at him for a good part of an hour because he did not _listen_ to her. No matter which way Rusty tried to justify it, she would put him in his place. If there was anyone who taught him how to get his point across it was her.

She made deals for a living. She used the information she had and created a plan, a goal, and Rusty took that model and used it when he formed his argument for court.

"You boys are up early," they both heard from behind them.

Rusty spun on his stool and Charlie straightened up. It was a little after five now and Rusty knew Charlie was going to be leaving soon.

"Giving the younger brother a hard time," Charlie grinned. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

Rusty watched as Charlie stretched out his arm in invitation to hug Sharon. Sharon went with a smile, content that her step-son was finally coming around more often than not.

"Are you working on your brief?" Sharon questioned, peering over her son's shoulder.

"Yes," Rusty said, closing the file to avoid any third party _opinion_ on the matter.

He had already made that mistake once. They had spent hours going over the legalities of what both sides were going to argue. It ended up with Rusty yelling at Sharon and Sharon not talking to Rusty for three days. It had been a holiday weekend.

Sharon grinned at her son and stepped up to the coffee machine, which Rusty hoped was still warm.

"She's breathing," Charlie whispered to Rusty. "Take advantage of it."

Rusty nodded and watched as Charlie stepped up behind Sharon and gave her a parting hug. Rusty heard the farewell and invitation for dinner.

When Charlie left and Sharon was alone with Rusty, he did what his step-brother advised him to do. He took advantage that his mother was alive, in front of him, and they talked. It reminded him of the past, the times before he had to worry about Stroh again, when the early morning car rides to school were about nothing and everything at the same time.

It wasn't until he stepped into the courtroom, a day later, after the case had been continued, that the realization hit.

With the first _"objection!"_ Rusty had begun to breathe again.

* * *

Thank you all so much for reading! Let me know what you think of this chapter. Only one more to go.


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